Cold School Killer
by Wepdiggy
Summary: Now with a second chapter in which we get to see a poor, sick Sarah! What happens when a trained spy gets a nasty case of the sniffles?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck in any way, shape, or form. And according to certain bloggers, I am not fit to even write about Chuck, Sarah, and Casey, nor are any fan fiction writers. I blow raspberries at that blogger, haha. _

_A/N: So I had the cold from hell over the weekend, and this little piece was what it inspired. We've all seen some fabulous pieces in the past about Chuck having a cold, and Sarah taking care of him, or Sarah having a cold and Chuck taking care of her. But what happens when Team Bartowski's enforcer is stricken with a man cold? Just some fun stuff with that idea here. I hope you enjoy it, and please review. Thanks!

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Sarah descended the stairs to Castle humming a tune that had been stuck in her head all morning. The previous night had brought with it another successful mission, followed by a really fun cover date with her cover boyfriend to see _Couple's Retreat_. Not a masterpiece, by any stretch of the imagination, but they both loved Kristen Bell. Followed up by a nice, long shower, a relaxing night's sleep, a spirited morning workout, and a surprise breakfast of chocolate éclairs provided by the aforementioned cover boyfriend, and Sarah was in an uncharacteristically cheerful mood.

When she reached the base of the stairs, her smile dissipated slightly. Her partner, John Casey, sat at the table in Castle's main meeting room. He wasn't going over reports. He wasn't cleaning a firearm. He wasn't watching the screen showing surveillance of the Buy More intently. Casey instead had his head resting against the table, his arms by his side, and for all the world looked like he might be dead.

"What the hell are you so happy about, Walker?" said Casey in his usual gruff voice.

Sarah was relieved that her initial fears that something terrible had happened to her partner had proven false, but she couldn't help but think something still sounded…off about him.

"Just another day in Burbank," she said simply, ignoring the niggling temptation to question the NSA agent further.

Of course, Casey only grunted in reply. But even his grunt sounded different than normal. It was far more…nasal.

"You okay?" Sarah asked, taking a seat at the table and gathering up some paperwork she planned to go over that morning.

"I'm fine," Casey said tersely.

"Really?" Sarah asked. She wasn't buying it for a moment.

"Really," Casey said. Then a sniffle.

"Because if you were sick-"

"I'm not sick!" Casey huffed.

"Because if you were," Sarah continued, unfazed. "You would tell me, right? I mean we're partners, and if Chuck's safety were in danger and I thought I could count on you, but I couldn't…"

"I'm fine," Casey reiterated.

Then he sneezed. A big, loud sneeze. Fortunately, he'd managed to cover his nose, but the sneeze had clearly been very productive, as the big man kept his hand cupped over his face and made his way wordlessly to the restroom.

Moments later, Casey returned. His eyes were watery and puffy. His nose looked raw from rubbing it.

"To be fine, you sure look like shit," Sarah said, barely looking up from her papers.

"Blow me," Casey stated firmly.

"Thought you weren't interested?" Sarah asked, smirking.

"I'm not, but hell, I figure you would know what you're doing better than most."

"Oh, I do," Sarah said proudly.

Casey looked flustered. He'd intended his comment to piss his partner off. After all, what woman is proud of being a whore? Maybe he hadn't been clear enough.

"What I meant was, I figure with your vast experience-"

"I know what you meant, Agent Casey. I don't care," Sarah said distractedly. She wasn't going to let Casey get the best of her. Not when he was clearly not _his_ best.

Casey huffed in frustration. He felt like death warmed over, and he really didn't appreciate Walker's attitude.

"You still didn't tell me why you're so damn happy this morning," he said, bringing the issue back up.

"And you didn't tell me what's wrong with you. Should I be wearing a germ mask or something?" Sarah asked in reply.

"What, no. It's just a cold. Now answer my question!"

"Fine, I was happy because I was positive that I could come to work today without getting sick. Now I'm not happy anymore, as I'm pretty sure I'm in danger of catching whatever you have," Sarah said.

"Fine, don't tell me," Casey said.

"I mean, I'm sure Beckman would just _love_ us not being able to go on a mission because I caught something from you that I passed on to Chuck," Sarah said, ignoring Casey's dismissal.

"Well if you kept your tongue in your own mouth, that really wouldn't be a problem, now would it?" Casey asked.

"It's a part of our cover, Casey," Sarah reminded him flatly.

"Get off it, Walker. You're not fooling anyone," and another sneeze, this time failing to completely cover his mouth.

"Ugh, that's gross!" Sarah shouted before getting up and leaving the room. When she came back a few minutes later, she was wearing a mask over her nose and mouth, and was carrying a bottle of disinfectant spray. She immediately began to spray and wipe down the table.

"You should go home," Sarah said, her voice muffled by the mask.

"I don't need to go home," Casey argued.

"Well, clearly you're too sick to do…well, anything. I think it's best if you go home. I'll grab Chuck when he gets off, and we'll head back to his place, seeing as you're too sick to do surveillance" Sarah offered.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Casey asked snidely. His head was now back on the table.

"I would _like_ to be away from the cold germs," Sarah replied pointedly. She sighed. Casey was obviously _not_ going to go home. "Fine, if you're going to stick around, you want me to get you anything? Soup, Kleenex?"

She shouldn't have asked. For the next three hours, Casey enlisted Sarah as his personal do-girl.

It started simple enough. He wanted a broccoli and cheese soup from Subway. She complied. After all, she could go ahead and pick up lunch for herself and Chuck while she was there. Next Casey wanted a bagel from the bakery down on the corner. Well, you're supposed to feed a cold, so Sarah got that for him. Casey then requested his partner run back to his apartment and get his Glenfarcias 25 year old. She reasoned that drunk Casey might be a little easier to deal with, so she got that too.

Drunk Casey wasn't any better, however. He had Sarah get his dry-cleaning, mail some bills, and even finish up his report from the previous night's mission. In short, he ran her ragged, all the while still managing a number of gross sneezes, which were now accompanied by bitching and moaning, the likes of which Sarah didn't know her partner was capable.

* * *

"Uuuuggh," Casey wailed once again.

"What is it _this_ time?" Sarah asked, clearly annoyed.

"It's almost lunchtime for the Intersect," sniffle, "and I don't know if this head cold can handle Bartowski today. Think you could call in a fake computer emergency somewhere? Anywhere but here?"

"No," Sarah stated flatly. She'd put up with Casey's insufferable whining and his demands all morning. She wasn't about to sacrifice the one bright spot of her day, lunch with Chuck, for the NSA agent.

"Fine," Casey huffed. "I guess I'll do it myself."

Casey pulled his phone from his pocket and began to dial. He was really going to go through with it. And that was the final straw for Sarah. She couldn't let him continue.

Pulling a tranq gun discreetly from under the table, she fired three quick shots into her partner's neck. He looked at her with an expression of betrayal on his face. Sarah didn't care. Hell, sleep would probably do Casey some good. And even if it didn't, him being unconscious would certainly do _her_ some good.

* * *

Chuck made his way down the steps of Castle with a smile on his face. He hadn't heard from either of his handlers all day, which more than likely meant it was a quiet day on the "spy world" front. That would mean no mission that night, more than likely, which would mean a good opportunity to just kick back and relax with his "cover" girlfriend. Those were always good nights.

His smile faded as he got closer to the bottom step, however, and he heard the unmistakable sound of Sarah grunting with exertion. Was she fighting with Casey, again? A quick scan of the room disproved that theory. Well, kind of. She wasn't fighting with Casey. At least, she wasn't fighting with him any more. If there had been a fight, it was over.

"Wuh-what's going on?" Chuck asked.

Sarah looked up at her asset startled, causing her to drop the body of the colonel, which she'd been dragging toward the detention block, to the floor.

"Casey got what he deserved," she said plainly. All of the exuberance she'd had this morning was clearly gone from her voice. Her hair was frazzled, and she looked like she'd been in a fight with five or six terrorists already that morning.

"You," Chuck swallowed hard, "you killed him?"

Sarah let go of a breath in frustration. "No I didn't _kill_ him. I just tranqed him. Now, are you going to help me drag his heavy ass to a holding cell, or are you just going to stand there observing?" she asked with frustration.

"I, um, I guess," Chuck said bumbling. He went over to where the two agents were. "So, you want me to get the legs or the head?"

"Here put this on," Sarah said, throwing him a mask like the one she was still wearing. "And then, grab the head."

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_A/N: You guys are awesome. Peace._


	2. The Giant Blonde SheCold

_A/N: So once upon a time, back in the H1N1 days, I got infected with that horrible virus. Inspired by how lousy I felt, I cranked out a story about our girl Sarah Walker taking care of a John Casey with a man-sized cold. At the time, there were at least a couple of pleas for a follow-up in which Casey could get his revenge. Well, the problem was, I wrote that story because I was sick, and I'm very rarely sick, so there was never a chance for that follow-up. Then, yesterday, I came down with an awful summer sickness. I'm not sure what it is, as I haven't bothered to go to a doctor or anything. I'm convinced I caught something from one of the dirty hipsters at Lollapalooza. Perhaps the plague. Or some tragically ironic flu. But whatever it is, I feel like ass, and finally, it was time for the next chapter in this saga. Hopefully, I never have the need to write in this universe again, but while I am sick, I hope you enjoy it._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. The only thing I own is this HORRIBLE cold/flu/whatever it is I have right now. Also, any mistakes you see, I'm totally blaming on my illness. I reserve the right to be grammatically incorrect, and misuse pronouns while I have a fever._

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**Chapter 2: The Giant Blonde She-Cold**

John Casey was in a good mood. At least, as far as John Casey moods go.

When he got a call from the troll that was shacked up with his daughter, he'd admittedly feared the worst. But Alex had assured him when he arrived on a Red Eye from Morocco, where he'd been on an op with his girlfriend, the incomparable Gertrude Verbanski—an op that had them spending more time in their private quarters than doing any actual spying—that her womb had not been infiltrated by a geek spawn.

As best he could tell, Grimes wanted to ask permission to ask Alex to marry him. But as yet, the boy hadn't worked up the balls to confront him. That was just fine with Casey, too.

While he was in town, it had been nice reconnecting with his old team. Not that he'd admit that to them. Couldn't have them thinking he was going soft or anything.

But Bartowski seemed to be in good spirits, despite the fact that Walker was still trying to recapture her memories. They were living under the same roof again. Walker was sleeping in another room, but Casey could tell his former partners were quickly rebuilding their bond.

Someone far sappier than Casey would probably find it romantic that they were essentially dating again. Going through the whole courtship ritual. Sarah had tried to confide in him when he first returned about the goings on of their status, but he'd stopped her before she got too intimate with the details. For all that she was the best spy he ever worked with, she did have a penchant for the over-sharing, and Casey was pretty sure that hadn't been removed with the memories of the past five years. He was content to know that they were both happy, and that things were looking up for them.

Chuck had discovered Sarah's preparations for the new business they were going to start before the whole Quinn situation—a business Casey was going to be an integral part of—and he'd gone ahead with instituting the plan.

According to the nerd, Walker was hesitant about joining him at first. She even made an inquiry into rejoining the Agency. That part, she didn't know Bartowski knew about, but the kid had learned at least a thing or two over the years about being a spy. And Casey was proud of him for keeping his mouth shut about it, when he did find out. Walker didn't need any pressure from him on the subject.

Of course, the Agency had flatly denied her request. She'd been off the payroll for over a year, and an agent with little to no memory of the past five years, and what enemies she had made—and there were plenty of them—was of no real use to Uncle Sam. So she'd come back to Burbank and asked Chuck if she could work with him again. Professionally.

As best he could tell, they were doing well for themselves. Chuck was working long hours, but he was making time to court Walker. And Walker seemed to be having fun, working as a corporate spy. No longer bound by the rules of the federal government, and no longer having to make the tough decisions, like burning assets, and all the killing. She was good at it, but Casey could always tell it bothered her when she had to end a life. Of course, he mostly attributed that to her not wanting Bartowski to think less of her, but whatever the reason, she wasn't happy when it became a necessity.

Yeah, life for everyone back in Burbank seemed pretty good. And that made Casey happy.

The previous night, Casey got a text that Gertrude needed to conference with him at 0600 local time, and he'd gotten permission (Chuck had insisted he didn't even need to ask, but whatever could be said of John Casey, no one could say he didn't have manners) to use the highly impressive facilities, in the even more impressive building that was once home to the personal office of The Gipper himself to set up the link.

He wasn't expecting anyone to be there. No one was _supposed _to be there. Bartowski did most of his work from home in the mornings, and Walker never came in unless she was preparing for an op. At least that's how the arrangement had been described to him. So he was immediately on his guard when he heard something moving around in the office.

There was a rustling of papers. Then a vicious, hacking cough. Then a thud.

Casey pulled his Constitutionally protected Sig from his concealed shoulder holster, and crept along the nearest wall. The he heard another loud, hacking cough. A sneeze. And a groan.

Wait, he recognized that groan.

"Walker?" he asked, slowly lowering his weapon.

"Uhhhhh," was the reply he got.

"Walker, that you? Why aren't you at home?"

He walked into the central conference room of their office to see Sarah Walker, stacks of paper strewn all over the table in front of her (and a few pages on the floor), face down on the table, her blond hair fanning out around her head.

"I'mb thick," she said, her voice muffled.

"Thick?" Casey asked.

With a groan, Sarah lifted her head off the table.

"Thick! I'mb thick," she repeated, pointing to her red nose.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes watery. Then it set in.

"Oh, sick," Casey clarified.

"That's whath I thaid," she answered, her face collapsing back onto the table.

Casey grunted. "Shouldn't you be convalescing back at Bartowski's place, instead of germing up the place here?"

The noise she made was somewhere akin to a growl. Just way more nasally.

"I never geth thick," she said. "I don wan Chub to thee me like thith." Then she sniffled and snorted. Very unladylike, Casey observed.

He sighed. "He's seen you thick—I mean sick before."

"I don 'member thath."

"You don't remember a lot of stuff," Casey pointed out.

Sick or not, the withering glare she shot him was kind of intimidating. Not that he'd admit that to her.

"Whatever," he said. "Look, I got to call Gertrude."

Perhaps realizing how ridiculous she sounded when she tried to speak, Sarah waved her hand in the direction of the screen at the front of the conference room, and let her face collapse back to the table.

* * *

"So we're wrapping up here," Gertrude said, as her team moved around behind her, packing equipment away. "And the guy we were doing the job for has this great place in Martha's Vineyard that he wants to loan me for a week. And I figured we could use a vacation."

Casey grunted. "I like the sound of that," he said. "When will you be stateside?"

"I should be—"

Gertrude was interrupted by an almost volcanic sneeze, coming from behind Casey.

"Uhhhhh," Sarah moaned.

"Is that Sarah Walker?" Gertrude asked.

"Yeah. She apparently got sick, and doesn't want her nerdy husband to know about it, so she's camping out in their office."

Gertrude nodded knowingly. "Makes sense," she said.

"It does?" Casey asked.

"Damn right," she said. "You think I'd let _you _see me when I was sick."

"You don't get sick," Casey pointed out.

"Point," Gertrude said.

"I don geth thick, either," Sarah shouted. Or at least she did her best sickly impression of a shout.

"Just make sure not to bring that crap back to me, yeah?" Gertrude said.

"Yes ma'am," Casey said, mockingly saluting.

And with that, the screen went black.

Silence fell over the room. Casey wasn't sure what he should do. His business was done, but he wouldn't feel right just leaving Sarah like she was.

"I think I'mb thick," Sarah said morosely, pulling her head off the table, but then letting it collapse into her hands.

* * *

Getting soup and tissues, and cleaning up after the use of both was nursemaid work. And John Casey was no one's nursemaid.

But over the years, Sarah Walker had accrued a few favors, so he sucked it up, and did what he could to make her more comfortable.

He'd pointed out to her a number of times that she'd probably be much more comfortable at home. In bed. Or at least on the couch. But Sarah had been insistent that she was _not _going to go home and let Chuck see her all sickly-like. Claimed she didn't want him making a fuss over her.

So she settled for Casey making a fuss over her.

It wasn't his way, but he had to give Walker credit for the NyQuil with a bourbon chaser, which she'd said was her way of treating a cold. It made his skin crawl, just thinking about it, but the girl had balls to be able to take it. Over and over again.

But alcohol fueled remedies or not, she wasn't getting any better. If anything, the intoxication she was starting to feel just made her more irritating than Bartowski and Grimes combined.

"Caseeeeeey," she moaned. Well, at least her sinuses were opening up a little, and he didn't need a Rosetta Stone to understand what she was saying anymore. "It sucks."

"Yeah," he said, as he cleared away her latest batch of used tissues, thankful for the rubber gloves he'd found in the kitchen. "Nobody likes being sick."

"No," she said. "Losing my memory sucks. Did you know I had a Facebook page?"

"I—no, I'm not really the social media type."

"It has all these pictures," Sarah said, not seeming to care about Casey's disinterest. "Pictures of me doing stuff I don't remember doing. And there's video from my wedding that I don't remember having. Then, I found another video that was hidden in Chuck's living room of the two of us having—"

"Walker, you may not remember much of our partnership," Casey interrupted, "but I try to make it a point not to hear about what happens between you and Bartowski in the privacy of your bedroom."

"I remember having sex at our old base," Sarah interrupted. "It wasn't always in the bedroom."

Casey closed his eyes and pinched his nose. "I'm going to forget I heard that."

If anything of what he was saying was sinking in, Sarah didn't seem to show it. She just continued on.

"I was wearing angel wings in the video," she said. "Nothing else, of course. But I was an angel. Chuck thinks I'm an angel!"

"Yeah," Casey said, trying his best to block out all of his former partner's ramblings.

"We started sleeping together again, you know," she volunteered.

"I really don't care," Casey said.

"It's weird. Chuck knows all the things I like, but I'm having to learn how to please—"

"Please stop," Casey begged.

"But I have to talk about this!" Sarah said emphatically. "I'm sick, and that means I get to talk about whatever I want."

"That's not the rules I remember," Casey said.

Because, just as Sarah made her last proclamation, Casey remembered an incident from so long ago. Back before the Quinn incident. Before the marriage of Walker and the Nerd. Even before Bartowski downloaded the second Intersect.

Once upon a time, Casey had been sick himself. At first, Walker took care of him, just as he was doing for her. But then he said something she didn't like, and she'd—

"You know what Chuck likes?" Sarah said. "He really liked it when I—"

Before she could finish her horrifying sentence that would guarantee nightmares for years to come, Casey picked up Bartowski's tranq gun, which had been left haphazardly on the conference room table, and fired one right at Sarah's jugular.

She looked confused for a moment, as she fingered the dart sticking out of her neck. Then she collapsed once again, face first on the table in front of her.

* * *

Chuck didn't have much work to do that morning, so he'd spent most of his day tidying up the apartment. Sarah had left before he woke up, and hadn't told him where she was going. Not that she had to check in with him, or anything. She had her own stuff going on, and Chuck was still hesitant to pressure her in any way.

He was just finishing up, and was about ready to leave for the office when there was a knock at the door.

Thinking nothing of it, he answered the knock, to find John Casey standing before him with an unconscious Sarah in his arms.

"Oh my God!" Chuck cried. "Is she alright?"

"She was sick," Casey growled.

"Should I—do I need to call an ambulance?"

"No, she'll be fine in a few hours," Casey said. "I just tranqed her."

"You _what_?"

"I didn't have a choice, Bartowski. She was telling me," he paused and shivered, "_intimate _details about your marriage."

"Ah," Chuck said, nodding. He knew all too well how easy it was to cross the line with Casey on that front. "Still, did you have to knock her out?"

"She was telling me how you like to be touched."

No other explanation was needed. "So I take it she was doing the Jack and NyQuil thing?"

"Yeah, she'll probably be hungover, but none the worse for wear other than that."

Unceremoniously, Casey dropped the sleeping blonde into Chuck's arms.

"Just get her to bed. And not in the ways she was telling me about."

"You got it," Chuck said.

Casey started to walk away, but then turned around.

"And when she wakes up," he said over his shoulder, "tell her I said payback's a bitch, ain't it?"

* * *

_A/N: So there you have it. More sick antics from Walker and Casey. And more sick writing from yours truly. Oh, and on the other story front, there should be a new chapter of Switch out tomorrow. You guys are awesome. Peace._


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